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Chapter 80
He crossed the verdant meadow, enveloped in the sensation of stepping into unfamiliar territory for the first time.
Upon the gently rolling hills, dozens ‌of plump foals and mares grazed contentedly on the grass.
"Over a hundred foals have been born in this pasture this year alone. All of them carry the bloodline of the renowned steeds of Norneksan."
Daren Dru Sierchan, who had been following quietly behind, explained ‌‌‌‌with evident pride in his tone.
Barcas turned to regard the man with a stern, somewhat obstinate expression and posed a question.
"What is the count of trained war horses?"
"This pasture alone holds three thousand. If we include the pasture located to the north, it should amount to roughly six thousand three hundred."
"That's fewer than the reported figures."
A flush of red crept across the man's face at his observation.
"The Duke was stationed in the Central Region, was he not? It is practically difficult to convey every minor detail beyond regular reports."
The ‌‌man added ‌‌‌‌‌defensively, averting his eyes.
"A month ago, one of the horse pastures in the Northeastern Region suffered considerable damage from a Zrami raid. Following the retaliatory battles that ensued, we lost a significant number of serviceable war horses."
Barcas furrowed his brow.
"Why was this not reported to the ‌‌‌Imperial Palace?"
"We could handle it with our own strength. What was ‌‌‌the point?"
The man shrugged with an indifferent expression.
"It was the Duke's principle that ‌‌problems in the Eastern Region should ‌‌‌be resolved by the people ‌‌of the Eastern Region. His retainers agreed with this as well."
"The Eastern Region is also territory of the Roem Empire."
Barcas countered in a measured tone.
"We are also citizens of the Empire. Just ‌‌‌as the Eastern Region shows loyalty to the Imperial Family, the Imperial Family has an obligation to protect the people ‌‌of ‌‌‌the Eastern Region."
The man clamped his mouth shut. He seemed to instinctively recoil at the word "protection." The Khan People, with their strong sense of self-reliance, regarded external assistance as humiliation.
Rather than correct that misguided notion, he turned his horse's head toward ‌‌‌the village situated below the hill.
The majority of residents living outside the castle walls led far harsher lives than those in the cities.
As evidence, the buildings lining the muddy path were uniformly dilapidated and shabby.
As he swept his indifferent gaze across them, something suddenly caught his attention.
Barcas narrowed his eyes and urged his horse toward the center of ‌‌‌the village. Then he noticed something suspended from a ‌‌large tree in the plaza.
As he drew closer, he could discern what it was—three corpses, apparently long dead and beginning to decompose with a purplish hue, hung limply with ropes wound around their necks.
"It appears these heretics were executed not long ago."
Daren wrinkled the bridge of his nose ‌‌as he spoke.
Barcas turned to regard him and asked.
"Are heretical forces spreading through Kalmor?"
"As ‌‌‌you well know, ‌‌‌many among the Eastern people have not abandoned their ancestral faith. Among them are those who revere spirits as gods or are consumed by superstition."
The man exhaled a heavy sigh.
"Particularly of late, reports of heresy have increased. It is likely due to the more frequent conflicts with the Zrami. They are all consumed by spirit-worship ideology, ‌‌are they not? Because of intensified resentment toward heretics, frequent religious trials are occurring at the village ‌‌‌level."
"It has become a complete mess in just a few years."
An expression of displeasure crossed the man's face.
As if to conceal it, the broad-shouldered man forced a smile and shrugged his massive shoulders.
"The Duke has been bedridden for quite some time, so it cannot be helped."
Barcas gazed up at the corpses with a contemplative expression, then gestured with his chin toward his subordinates.
"If left as is, there's a high probability it will become a ghoul. Lower the corpse and perform a simple funeral rite." ‌‌‌‌‌
The Nobleman raised his thick eyebrows.
"You mean the heretic, sir?"
Barcas regarded him with a cold gaze.
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
Daren Dru Sierchan stared at him for a moment before barking at the lined-up Guard Knights.
"Why aren't you following the lord's orders at once!"
The men immediately dismounted and severed the rope suspending the corpse.
The body fell with ‌‌a heavy thud onto the dirt ground.
As it dropped, I observed ‌the head bent at an unnatural angle, as though the neck had snapped during the fall.
Maggots writhed in the hollow sockets where the eyes had been gouged out, and within the carved-open mouth, every ‌‌‌tooth had been extracted. All ‌‌‌precautions against ‌‌ghoulification.
A ‌‌‌‌corpse denied purification rites had a high likelihood of becoming undead, and for this reason, heretics were routinely stripped of their eyes, teeth, and fingernails.
'Pointless measures.'
A ghoul could wield tools with ease based on its ‌‌living memories. To truly prevent danger, complete incineration or a purification ritual would have been far more effective.
I watched the soldiers drag three corpses ‌‌‌‌to a corner of the Training Ground, then turned my gaze toward the Plaza where a cluster of shabby-dressed farmers had gathered.
Most bore expressions of terror, though a few wore looks of discontent.
I pointed to one of them.
"You—fetch the Priest at once."
The designated Nobleman trudged reluctantly toward the Chapel situated at the village's edge.
Soon the Priest arrived and performed a brief purification ceremony.
Watching quietly, I issued orders to have the corpses buried in an appropriate location, then led my horse out of the village.
At that moment, an abandoned wooden sculpture caught ‌‌‌my eye at the end of the broad ‌‌road.
A three-headed dog—or rather, wolf—sculpture, half-cleaved by an axe blade, lay abandoned on a narrow path leading into the Argand Forest.
It was unmistakably a curse marker.
Daren, who discovered it belatedly, stiffened and shouted loudly to the soldiers.
"Remove it at once!"
I gazed down at ‌‌the sculpture with measured composure, then turned ‌‌my attention back toward the village.
Given that it ‌‌‌had been placed to coincide with our arrival, it was clearly an act of deliberate malice.
A dry laugh escaped me.
'It seems there are those who are displeased by my return.'
Whether the work of superstition-obsessed heretics or a provocation from anti-imperial forces remained unclear, but I sensed that life in this place would prove equally arduous.
"Shall we search for the culprit?"
Daren asked, gauging my reaction.
I ‌‌‌pulled the reins and shook my head lightly.
"Leave it. ‌‌Investigating over ‌‌‌a mere sculpture would only make us ‌‌a laughingstock."
The Nobleman swallowed a sigh and nodded.
"That's true ‌‌‌‌enough."
Though he acquiesced, his frustration clearly remained unresolved, his gaze sweeping across ‌‌the village with a sharp intensity. I suspected he might yet ‌‌lead his subordinates into the village to cause trouble.
Brief as my observation was, the Nobleman possessed a distinctly bellicose temperament among the mounted warriors.
Feeling ‌‌‌‌‌a peculiar exhaustion wash over me, I spurred my horse forward.
When Barcas arrived back at Laedgo Castle, the sun had already tilted toward the western horizon.
Dismounting from his horse with a swift motion, he handed the reins to the Stable Master and crossed the expansive Martial Training Grounds.
As he entered the Main Castle, the Steward, who had been directing the servants, rushed forward to greet him.
"Welcome home, my lord."
He acknowledged the greeting with a nod, then passed ‌‌through the bustling Grand Hall and ‌‌‌ascended the staircase.
The ‌‌‌‌‌Nobleman followed urgently behind him and spoke.
"Several lords from various ‌‌‌‌‌regions have come to see you, my lord."
He furrowed his brow and turned to look back at the ‌‌Steward.
"Lords from the regions?"
"Vassals who oversee the Southeastern Region, my lord."
The Nobleman added carefully.
"It appears they have come to make their presence known before you hold your succession ceremony."
He lightly rubbed his chin with his gloved hand as ‌‌‌he continued up the staircase, speaking with indifference.
"Prepare a banquet for our guests. After I change my clothes, I shall proceed to the Grand Hall."
"I...."
As he made his way toward his Bedroom on the second floor, the Steward's words trailed off.
Barcas glanced back at him over his shoulder.
After hesitating for some time, the man carefully opened his mouth.
"Whether your wife might be able to attend the evening banquet, my lord...."
Barcas's eyes narrowed.
The Steward, gauging his reaction as though delivering gossip, quickly continued.
"She will soon become the mistress of the ducal household, will ‌‌‌she not? Everyone is curious to know who she is. Yet she has not left her chamber all day...."
"Steward."
Barcas cut off his words with a low voice.
"Do you truly believe The Princess should endure discomfort merely to satisfy the curiosity of my relatives and servants?"
The color drained from the Steward's face. Barcas continued coldly.
"Her Highness suffered a grave ‌‌‌accident mere months ago. Having ‌‌not yet fully recovered, she has now endured weeks of arduous travel. She requires ‌‌‌‍rest and recuperation for the time being. See that everyone is informed not to ‌‌‌‌trouble her with unnecessary matters."

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Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org
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